


He’s bathing in the neon (risking failure).

by rayfelle



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Prostitute!Eren, Violence, gang fights, jean being a dork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayfelle/pseuds/rayfelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren was a male prostitute, working his ass off in the concrete jungle he called home, surrounded by neon lights and gang disputes going on left and right. Never would he had thought that one simple meeting will lead him to be a part of one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He’s bathing in the neon (risking failure).

He can barely keep himself up. His legs tremble every time Eren tries to stand up, blindly holding on to the dirt wall of whichever building he had been left next to. Eventually he just stops trying and leans his back against the cold brick wall and looks up the dark sky, counting down from hundred slowly.

Eighty nine. Eighty eight. Eighty seven.

What his previous client had left behind slowly drips out of his body and unto the dirty ground. Eren just closes his eyes and forces deep, steady breaths to in and out of his lungs.

Seventy five. Seventy four.

Today has been a long night and he hasn’t earned much. Maybe just enough for a few days worth of food if he spent as little as possible and held back on cigarettes, though that probably won’t happen. Nicotine held him back from drugs, made it easier to breathe when the night spent working has been too rough. It was the good kind of addiction that held together the cracks of his broken soul and body.

“I need to work.” Eren finally mumbles and stands up. He had counted only to fifty this time. Oh well. He gets the goodbye from his last client out of his body, finds the discarded booty shorts and converse without difficulties and puts them back on.

…

At the very start of this madness Eren had tried to play off as a woman. He tried to mask what he was with wigs and makeup, and pretty dresses that hugged his body and sometimes shone in the dim streetlights. He had thought of himself as an actor, someone that could wear pretty clothes and become pretty himself, hiding the ugliness behind a mask of lies, lies, lies.

He learned early on that clients, the ones that paid good, didn’t like the in-betweens, the ones who couldn’t really decide what they really were. And if clients didn’t like him well enough then it was just another day spent with not money for food and rent.

So he started wearing sneakers and revealing shorts with tight shirts. Sometimes he still wears pretty dresses and short skirts, just to see if there was anyone to take the bait, someone to fall for the fake and strange little whore that sells his body under the neon lights of a night club.

Tonight though, tonight Eren walks down the street, the black phone in his hand reflecting the car headlights, and holds tighter onto the small black bag that with today’s pay in it. He had managed to get two more clients, both opting for the cheapest thing that Eren could offer.

Now he has enough for food. Not for the rent though. Or enough for the rent and then staying alive without food somehow. Always enough for cigarettes. Never enough for something that might make this nightmare a bit easier, though. That stuff is expensive, unless he got paid in drugs instead of money.

Happened rarely but Eren had never declined.

With a sigh, he slides the phone in his little bag and allows his eyes to scan the crumpled bills that came close to a few hundreds. Maybe three, closerto four, in case he had jumbled up his math once again. He had never been one to do well in school, to be able to connect the numbers and come to easy conclusions. It was yet another reason why he was here now, barely legal and already having lived through and seen more than some did before reaching thirty.

A car stops next to him. It’s shiny and black, and the front window rolls down slowly, revealing a man that Eren knew well – a regular, if one could call him that. It's a man with a rather weird habit of sniffing every inch of the boy’s body, making sure of something that he usually chose to keep to himself.

“Can we go to a hotel this time? I’ll pay extra, if you agree to some toys.” Mike, Eren repeats the name in his head, leans out a little, sniffs the air as he speaks and then leans back in the leather seat once more. “I pay for the stay, of course.” The man adds as an afterthought.

It doesn’t take much thinking for Eren to agree – he needs the money Mike offers, and this is what he does for a living, after all. No reason in not doing his job when it comes to him. “Sure. But no beating.”

…

The late morning comes, and Eren hasn’t slept much. Or maybe he has, but it doesn’t feel like it. His body is sore, cloth still tied around one of his wrists, and the used vibrator lies on the carpeted  floor next to the bed.  There are fresh, new bills on one nightstand by the bathroom door, next to Eren’s bag and pile of clothes.

Mike had left him with a kiss on a cheek and a promise of a next time sometime close to six. It’s nine, if the clock on the wall is to trust. It’s time to go home, to an empty and cold apartment and an equally empty and cold refrigerator. But he had cigarettes. He somehow always had enough of those.

Though, as he sits up in the bed and scowls down at the dried mix of semen and sweat on his body, Eren thinks that he now has enough for both the rent and the food. And also more nicotine to kill him slowly from the inside. Perfect.

Eren leaves the cheap hotel a little after half twelve, two hundred more dollars stuffed in his little bag, body clean of anything that had clung to him since last night, and a stiff neck, as well as bruised wrists. Perhaps the night wasn’t as bad as he had thought it would be.

He had counted back from hundred five times though. Not good.

…

There’s blood by the house where his apartment is. A short man is standing by someone who sits on the steps that lead up to the entrance, and holds his bleeding head. Eren supposes there were more guys but only these two remain now. The short one in leather pants and a biker’s jacket and the bleeding one with stupid hair and red band shirt are the ones left behind.

It wasn’t the first or the last time to witness something like this – ‘the last smoke after a fire has gone out’ (seems that it was a fight, this time). With a sigh, the boy walks past them, cigarette hanging limply from his lips, and the bruises on his skin now a deeper red than before. Most of the people in the building already knew what he was since this is simply that kind of a building. A house for the trash of the society.

“Oi, booty shorts, got any left?” A voice, deep and slightly breathless, calls Eren to a stop. He makes a motion of smoking with his fingers.

Eren stops, one leg on the fifth step, the other on forth, and looks back, cigarette still between his lips. He takes it with two of his fingers, flicks off the ash and then nods. “A few, yeah. You need light as well?” The cigarette is soon between Eren’s lips, and his fingers dig around the small, black bag for the almost empty pack.

“I’ll just use the one you’re smoking now.” The short one shrugs, seemingly pleased. He then kicks his bleeding friend in the calf, “Jean, you’ll smoke?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just let me stop bleeding, dickweed.” The bleeding one, who is apparently called Jean, groans and finally raises head from his hands. Jean looks dazed, somewhat between drunk and hangover. He then throws a look over his shoulder. “You look like a hooker.”

Eren just passes his pack of Marlboro over to the short one, rolls his eyes and steps lower. “No shit. Maybe ‘cause I am.” He holds back on commenting about Jean looking like a horse. First impressions.

Before anything else can be said, the man in the biker’s jacket is already climbing the three steps up to where the prostitute is, leans in and connects their cigarettes. Once his is lit he throws back the package and steps down to offer the other one he took to Jean. “Thanks.”

Eren just waves, throws the pack in his bag and walks in the shitty apartment building. It smells like piss and puke, just like any other building in the close vicinity. His wrists hurt a tad bit more than just a moment ago.

…

It rains during the day and doesn’t stop until the very evening. The air is cold and damp, and there are leaks in the ceiling of Eren’s shabby apartment. He places a bucket under the leak and leaves it at that. He still needs to find something to wear for work tonight.

There are clothes thrown on the floor, hanging off the chair and thrown on his messy bed. Nothing _seemed_ to fit the mood of this night, nothing felt _right_. In the end Eren just decided on a pair of tight jeans and a black shirt, together with a jacket to prevent himself from freezing on the streets. He looked good, or, at the very least, buyable.

Bag with everything he might need in hand, Eren leaves the apartment. He stops by the landlord to drop off this month’s rent and leaves the building. Some of the blood is still there, even though the rain had washed away most of it, and the same short guy from before is there as well. The smoke of his cigarette slowly rises up towards the dark sky and disappears. He glances back with a raised eyebrow, nods to Eren and then pulls the cigarette out of his mouth to blow out a cloud of thick smoke.

Eren disappears into the alleyways that lead to better ‘hunting’ grounds while the short man stays standing next to the apartment building.

… ~~~~

Eren has more luck than yesterday, perhaps because it's cold. Lonely men seek warmth and the kind of comfort that only another body, hot to their touch and soft, can give. By the end of the night he has close to six hundred and something, and it was not a pay he got every night. The crumpled dollars find their way into his little bag, next to the lighter and phone. There are no cigarettes today – he smoked all of them at the start of the night.

Forty five. Forty four. Forty thr—.

He stops and looks up with narrowed eyes at the one that’s blocking his way. The man in front of him belongs to a gang. Eren knows, he’s been beaten once and left with no pay by one of the idiots who are a part of it. Though the guy got his arm broken in return – Eren may be trash of the society, but that didn’t mean he’d take that kind of shit lying down. This time it’s different, though. The blade in the man's hand looks sharp and clean, and ready to be painted crimson red, if needed.

“Hey, pretty, little thing. I’m Hannes, and I’m here to collect something from you.” The grin that appears on the man’s face lets Eren know just what he is here to collect.

At first he doesn’t move, doesn’t even respond to what had been said to him. But his fingers clutch the bag tighter, heart beating wildly in his chest.Eren only has one chance, one chance to get away from Hannes and the wounds that will surely mark his skin in case he is caught. He can run. He will run

 “Did you hear me? I’m here to collect an apology for what you did to my dear friend Dita. His arm’s still in a sling ya’ know.” Hannes taps the blade against his leg twice, gently, and then points it towards Eren. “How ‘bout it?”

Eren smiles, sweet and fake, taps his heel against the dirty sidewalk before quickly turning around and running where he came from. The heavy footsteps following him are accompanied by loud cursing, but Eren knows the alleys in this part of the city better than anyone else. He knows the holes and the hidden doors in the shadows, and the places where he can hide if it comes to that.

There’s something thrown on the sidewalk, something that makes the soles of Eren’s converse to slip, and him - to fall down, one hand barely able to grab a hold on the cold metal pole of the stop sign. It’s too late, though, Hannes has caught up, and his free hand yanks on Eren’s hair and the blade is sliding against the skin on his neck, blunt side first.

People ignore them – wouldn’t be the first time that something like this is happening in the middle of the street.

“Fucking bitch, I even tried to be nice.” Warm blood slides down Eren’s neck, but the wound is shallow. Hannes’s breathing hitches, just a little. “Got what you wanted, huh?” But before Hannes manages to say something else, a brick hits him in the side of his head.

…

“For the cigarettes.” The short one kicks the man, sounding just a little annoyed. He has an undercut, Eren notes from where he’s sitting on the ground. Interesting. When he looks at the boy and sees blood on the pale neck, his eyes narrow.

It’s hard to stand up so Eren doesn’t, not yet. “Thank you.” he says, instead and reaches out to touch the wound. It stings when he does, and a whine escapes his lips. “Wh-… Why, though? A cigarette isn’t worth that much.” His fingertips are now red.

The short one clicks his tongue, walks to stand in front of Eren, and hauls the boy on his feet. “Who gives a shit? And don’t touch that, it could get infected, for fuck’s sake.” He leads the two of them back to the apartment building where Eren lives. Maybe the man lives in it too, who knows. But his fingers stay wrapped around the boy’s left arm the entire time.

“Levi,” the short man finally says. His voice has lost the annoyance from before, it’s softer now. Just a little tired.

It takes Eren a moment to understand that it’s an introduction, in a way. He finally has a name to add to the face. “I’m Eren.” He answers back quietly, stumbles a little and clutches onto his bag to not to lose it. They don’t speak a word after that, not until they reach their destination.

…

They stand in the small space by the stairs and broken mailboxes. It still stinks in there, but not as bad as before since the front door has been left open for the whole night. Levi turns his head slightly, looks at Eren before seemingly decides on something and pulls the boy up to the fourth floor.

Eren lives on the sixth, the top floor. That’s why his ceiling leaks every time it rains. That’s also why he pays less for the rent.

On the way up Eren stumbles on the steps, loses his balance and almost ‘kisses’ the dirty stone, but the fingers around his arm keep him up and away from the dirt and ground. Only an annoyed click of the tongue comes from Levi before they resume the walk. In front of apartment number 403, with the '4' hangingupside down and barely holding on, is where they stop for a moment before entering.

The door is open. Levi doesn’t take off his shoes before moving to the kitchen. Eren follows him, like a lost little dog.

 “Jean!” The man calls out, and the rattle of drawers follow his voice. Levi swears twice before finds the first aid kit and points to an empty chair. Eren sighs, sits down and waits until Levi is done yelling at whoever else was at the apartment. “Hey, fuckface, where the  _fuck_ do you keep the antiseptic?” The bag with bandages and gauze, and pills is thrown on the kitchen table Eren sits at.

“In the damn bag!” Jean yells back and soon shows up, shirtless and with bandages wrapped around his head. He blinks and looks at Eren while Levi busies himself with finding what he needs. Jean leans against the doorframe and slumps just a little as he speaks with the kid, “Cigarette hooker. Does this mean we’ll be having a dick threesome?”

Levi shoots him a look so dark that even Eren gets the shivers. Jeans shuts up and doesn’t say a word anymore.

…

They don’t let him go until Eren tells why Hannes was after him. But his neck is treated with a care he hadn’t felt for years, and it’s enough to get him to speak. So he tells about the fight that had happen almost two weeks ago. About Dita and how Eren broke the guys arm in self-defense. He tells about the money Dita didn’t pay and how the man left painful wounds on his body.

“Shit, dude. They won’t leave you be now.” Jean takes up the whole sofa alone by lying across it. He’s holding a can of beer with three fingers and sips from it from time to time. “That gang won’t give a crap that you’re just hooker. Anyone who does even as much as talk back to a member gets offed. I wouldn’t be out there selling my ass, if I were you.”

“And do what? Stay here, starve and get kicked out because I can’t pay for the shithole of an apartment? Hell no.” Eren’s fingers itch for a smoke but he’s all out. Somehow it’s awkward to ask for some to the other two. But he’ll wait until this talk ends, there are smokes in his apartment two floors up.

Jean gives him a look that’s a mix of ‘you’re a damn idiot’ and ‘hookers nowadays’, to which Eren flips him the middle finger. The horse-faced idiot didn’t look that much older than himself - a few years past twenty at most. Besides, this whole situation wasn’t something that he hadn’t gone through once already.

Levi hasn't said anything yet. He just stares out of the window, a cup of coffee in his hand, and there’s something weird about the way his eyes scan the people who pass by the building or walk inside.

It seems that somewhere in the city a police car is on the hunt for someone, the sound of the sirens flows in the room even through the closed window, and Jean takes a sip of his beer. His gaze is now focused on the dirty ceiling, looking up at it but seeing nothing. When he talks it’s directed to Levi. “See anyone coming?”

The one spoken to shakes his head, takes a small sip from his cup and finally turns away from the window. “Don’t think they’ll come today. We kicked their sorry asses just yesterday.” He glances at Eren and taps the wall with the heel of his right foot. ”After what I did they think he’s with us. Probably.”

“Balls. Right what we fucking needed.” Jean sighs. He places the can on the floor, next to the sofa and purses his lips. “You’re kind of fucked the most though, Eren. ‘Cause now they think you’re with us. _Probably_.”

“I heard that the first time.” Eren mutters under his breath, and his fingers twitch ever so slightly. Two days ago he thought that his life was as normal as a fucked up life can be, but fate yet again seems to have proven him wrong. “Listen, can I go now? I have stuff to do.” He needs a shower and a smoke to clean himself both inside and out.

…

Eren doesn’t know why, but now he has both Levi’s and Jean’s phone numbers in his contact list, rounding the count to a total of four people he can call. It’s strange and suspicious, but he’s too tired to care. They had told him to be careful and call if something happens, and stop by Jean’s before going out and leaving, but he won’t do that. Getting close to people is dangerous. Dangerous and painful.

He sits naked on the wide windowsill, a half-smoked cigarette between his middle and index fingers, and watches the city that is moving on as if nothing had happened. The ceiling is still leaking; he emptied the bucket in the crappy shower after getting back.

The sixth floor is high enough that no one can see him, but he can still make out the tiny people that pass by the building and get swallowed up by the concrete jungle Eren calls home. Now that he’s clean and calm, he thinks back, and now it's no more his own but Levi’s face reflecting in the dirty glass of the window and blinks back at Eren, grey eyes disinterested but not cold. It’s all so strange and unclear, but Levi’s last words to him ring clear in his head and seem more real than anything else. “I’ll look after you, huh?” Eren breathes out grey smoke to wash away Levi’s reflection from his mind.

“He’d be the first one.” There are goosebumps on his wet skin and sudden tiredness in his bones. It was time to forget about everything and slump into the safeness of dreams.

…

His hands are bound again. There is dull pain in his wrists, the rough hands of his current customer doing nothing but reminding Eren that he healed slowly, if ever at all. The dirty brick wall is so close to his face, his mouth that for a moment he forgets to moan when he should as if he’s forgotten his line in a theater show. But this isn’t much different anyway.

“Lovely, little thing. Pretty,  little thing. Sing for me louder, love.” The man pants against his ear, fingers wrapping tighter around Eren’s wrists. The man is rough and clumsy, and doesn’t know what he’s doing – a first timer who’s been drinking too much and cares too little.

Everything ends fast. Soon Eren holds crumpled dollars in his hand and kisses the man goodbye. The cold night air bites his skin. But Eren is glad it does, it makes it seem like he’s being scrubbed off the filth that is stuck to his skin. With steady fingers he counts the money, puts the dollars in his bag and once more steps out in the neon lights.

He wanders around the streets, the bright colors playing on his exposed skin. He watches the people and the cars passing by. Once a car stops, he leans down and smiles, all shy and promising, as he names his price and then gets in.

Twenty minutes later he climbs out, more dollars added to his earnings that night, and the customer promises to return soon. Another one to use his body and then toss it aside like it’s an old doll that has served its purpose.

Eren looks up at the dark sky that is slowly being killed with the lights and almost feels like crying. “I’m not worth it. I’m not worth looking after.” The cold air in his lungs is fresh yet the boy fights for every breath he takes. Time moves on, and he walks the side of the street once more.

…

He stands still, frozen in the middle of the room with his eyes wide and fear slowly dripping into his very being. Someone is banging at the door of his apartment. There are voices behind the thin wood, yelling something about prices and names, and stolen things that should be returned. He’s heard that voice before, laughing in his ear and sliding cold steel against the skin of his neck.

The small wound on his neck pulsates. His wrists burn.

Eren moves slowly, back to where his bag is tossed on the floor. The banging doesn’t stop, but his fingers already search for one of the two numbers that had been placed on the contact list just recently – the only ones that work.

Jean doesn’t pick up. Levi answers after the second ring, alert and slightly breathless. “What.”

“Help me.” Eren’s voice is a broken whisper, a cry that channels the fear he feels and the panic that threatens to spill over any second now. ”The—they are here, my door won’t- It won’t hold it. _Please._ ” It’s the first time in so long that he pleads for something and means it with his very being.

“Fuck. _Fuck!_ Shit, I’m coming. Eren don’t try to fight them, you hear me? Just, goddamn it, just- _don’t fucking_ \----” the connections cuts, and Levi’s voice disappears. The dial tone counts down the seconds before disaster.

A crack of wood vibrates through the empty rooms at the same moment when Eren lets the phone slide out of his hold. He just sits on the floor, hot tears slowly sliding down his face and watches as Hannes stands in front of him, the same blade in his hand and a smile – on his lips.

Eren's not worth it after all, not when he can already see what will happen next and knows that Levi will surely come far too late. If only he had never hoped to begin with…

…

They still have Eren held down and with his face pressed against the floor. There is laughing about his pain when Dita slams his foot down on the teen’s fingers or when Hannes slashes shallow cuts on Eren’s skin. He’s asked where Levi and Jean are, since the pretty, little prostitute was there friend. And after they get bored of kicking and beating, it is decided to use Eren what he was good for – maybe some _stimulation_ will help open his mouth.

 Everything hurts. His hands, his legs, his face. There is blood on his living room floor - his blood. It's not going to be the first time that Eren was beaten, kicked or taken against his will, but this time it is different. This time there is another kind of fear that courses through his body, paralyzing his breathing.

Four of them, there are four of them. Hannes and Dita, and two that Eren didn’t know. But they are all monsters who enjoy his tears and the cries that seem to tear at his throat and claw their way out of his mouth.

It is humiliating. It is painful. In a way, it is also something he should have been used to. And yet there is a part of him that desperately hopes that this is all just a bad dream, a nightmare and nothing else.

“Come on now, bitch. Where's the fun if you keep all quiet like that? Can’t your pretty, little voice sing for me louder?” It’s one of the two men that Eren doesn’t know. His breath stinks of cheap alcohol, and he coos every time Eren chokes on his own breath. This man was the one to suggest tying the boy’s hands.

It’s too much, and Eren starts to wish he could either black out or be freed from this torment.

Hannes starts to laugh, managing to only let out a short laugh before something slams the door to Eren’s apartment open again. There is shouting, threats that seem to fall on deaf ears, and one of the four that had been standing by the entrance falls. Dita swears loudly before he is cut mid-word, and his body falls on the floor as well. Eren can see half of the man’s body from where he is, with his face still pressed against the floor.

“Get your damn hands off of him.” Levi’s voice is quiet, but cold as steel and it makes the two men left standing shiver visibly. Levi's gaze moves from the blood on the floor to the man holding Eren down, and then - to Hannes. His lips twist into a sneer, teeth grit against each other, and Levi moves – fast and unstoppable.

Hannes gets punched in the face, and there is blood everywhere. The guy who had held Eren down stands up and tries to move towards the baseball bat that’s lying by the wall. The boy himself slumps on the ground, watching Levi move though a haze that has settled before his eyes, blocking his vision. But even so, it’s clear that none of the two can match against a single Levi, the man is too strong, too angry.

Soon Eren’s hands are untied, and Levi’s jacket covers his front. “Sorry,” the man whispers, and it sounds just a little broken. “I promised, and yet this shit happened. Fuck.” He picks the boy up as if he’s like a fragiledoll that one needs to be careful with.

The last thing Eren remembers before passing out is Levi’s warmth.

…

The soft buzzing of voices wakes him up, yet the sound also seems to bounce off his head. Some words are clear and some - muddled up and indistinguishable. Eren’s whole body hurts, and it’s heavy, as if filled with rocks and sunken down in the murky depth. He looks around and sees the white of bandages. Smells medicine in the air.

“..—ay here. They aren’t that fucking dumb. Or what, you want to take the hooker with us?” It's Jean, and he sound different than he did the last time, his voice is rising and falling rapidly as he speaks. “Levi, for fuck's sake, he’s a hooker of all thin--”

“I heard that the first twenty times. _Shut your mouth._ ” Levi’s voice holds the same kind of edge that it had when he had ordered for Eren to be released. But now he’s calmer, so much calmer. “I will take Eren with me, and that’s it. I pulled the kid in this bullshit, and look what fucking happened with the whole ‘let it be’ crap.”

Eren tries to blink the sleep away, but it’s hard, so hard. Especially, when he feels like closing his eyes and sleeping forever, away from the noise, confusion and pain. It’s so warm, so very warm and safe where he sleeps. Reminds Eren of the hotels Mike would take him to when the man had decided to treat the boy just a little better than the rest of the men that bought Eren’s body.

But he still fights against the sleep and sits up. A quiet whine mixes with the bed creaking, and only then Eren notices that he's wearing a shirt that isn't his and is a little too big, and that there are white bandages wrapped around his wounds. He's in a room he doesn't recognize. It looks familiar and yet it’s foreign.

Jean opens the door quietly, looking rather relieved when he sees Eren awake even though the boy seems a little lost. “Morning, sunshine. The clothes are mine, and, while you _do_ look disturbingly cute like that, you better get your poor, little bottom here if you’re awake. There is shit to talk about, and we’re kind of short on time.” He places the cigarette he was holding in his hand between his lips when he needs his hands to help Eren get out of the bed and walk to the living room.

Levi is once again standing by the window and watching the people outside. This time Eren knows why.

They don’t talk about the reasons and what had happened. Levi just looks just a little relieved, and Jean paces around the small space as he talks in hurried, short and broken sentences that leave out so much. But Eren understands. He understands that it’s dangerous here and that he wasn’t supposed to go through what he did. There isn't supposed to be bruises on his face that will take weeks to heal, wounds on his body that will possibly leave scars, and a new kind of fear now living in his shadow. And he had thought that his life could not get worse.

“We’re taking you with us. Levi, apparently, has been fucking hookered by some underage brat, which would be you, and, fuck, if I can talk him out of it.” Jean had finally sat down, but his leg keeps twitching even as he speaks. “You have no say in this. Just saying.”

Eren stares at his hands with brows furrowed, and teeth biting into his bottom lip. There is suddenly a copper-like taste on his tongue, and he let’s go, licking the fresh wound clean of blood. “I’m not underage.” He says simply, too lost to be capable of anything else. Why was he suddenly wanted? He had no worth.

A hand is placed on Eren’s shoulder, and he smells tea and cigarettes in the breath that ghosts close to his ear when Levi speaks. “You’re mine now, Eren.”

…

Jean stands guard by the stairs while Levi helps Eren gather clothes, and things that might be important and hold a meaning of some sorts. The boy doesn’t have much of that – he left everything that he had cared for at the place where he grew up and was chased out of.

It’s still hard to move. So Eren just stands in the middle, holding onto a chair and pointing where Levi should look and what to take. His phone wasn’t damaged – it’s clutched by the fingers of Eren’s left hand so hard that his knuckles turn white. The men may be gone but their smell lingers, the smeared red on the floor is there as a sort of a reminder about what had happened, about the nightmares that will surely come.

“What about the dresses?” There’s amusement dancing in Levi’s voice, quiet laugher lacing his words. Even when Eren doesn’t reply, the man packs two in the old bag, together with a couple of anything else that Eren will need.

With a sigh Eren pockets his last pack of cigarettes and the money taken from his little, black bag and the hole behind one of the cupboards where he hid what he could save. It’s not much, and, surely, the two have more, but this was something that he had earned, something that had kept him alive for this long. It felt wrong to let someone else enjoy the fruits of his pain.

But Levi’s fingers around his upper arm are strong, soft and warm – something that keeps Eren slightly less insane and closer to the earth. It seems to ward off the shadows that loom closer every time that he closes his eyes and tries to breathe normally again. But there is the quiet whispers of ‘it will be ok’ lingering in the air, in the warmth of Levi’s skin, and it almost seems like it really will.

…

It’s warm inside the car, probably because the air condition is broken. The radio is missing as well. But the seats are comfortable, and Eren has the back all to himself. The bag he has with him weights almost nothing, just like the regret that is somewhere inside of him. Probably.

He leaves behind the ceiling that leaks when it rains, Mike and his strange habits, the neon lights that colored his skin during the nights and the landlord who sometimes pushed back the day for paying the rent, if given a good service. There will be no more bruises on his skin, no more showers when he tries to scrub his skin raw and clean from the phantom hands that still lingered on.

“Drive, you moron, they’re fucking running.” Levi slaps Jean on the back of his head to get the man to start up the car before turning around in his seat and speaking with Eren. “Lay down on the seat. Just to be safe.”

The blue Audi comes to life with a roar of an engine, and Levi kicking open the glove apartment. The tires screech against the road and buck before the car finally moves, leaving the people behind it in thick, grey smoke. Eren stares up at the roof where there is a small stain and tries to imagine his life from now on.

“Losers. Do they really think we’d stay in that shithole? Fucking morons.” Jean opens the side window and sticks out his hand; flipping the finger to anyone they pass by. He gets another slap for that, and Levi doesn’t pass him the gum that he found in the glove apartment. “Rude.” Jean finally sighs, sticking out his tongue and making the car go faster.

Eren decides that he’s had enough of sleeping on the seats, besides his back hurts, and it’s uncomfortable. He sits back straight and watches the passing buildings with wide eyes. “Never thought I’d end up like this. Weird.” But there is relief in his voice, and the other two hear it clearly.

“The more you bloody know, little hooker. Oh wait,” Eren can see the way Jean grins in the rearview mirror while speaking. “You’re Levi’s personal _escort_ now, aren’t ya?”

That earns the man the third slap across the back of his head.

…

Eren watches as the sun sets, his head and shoulders sticking out the open window. Wind plays with his hair, and his skin tingles as the wind hits it over and over again. He is bathing in golden yellows and scarlet reds, just like he did in the neon lights that had once seemed to protect him.

It’s the freedom he’s always wanted and now won’t be able to give away.

He slides back in and rests his forehead against the front seat, a smile on his lips. The car slowly stops by the roadside, and Jean gets out, mumbling something under his nose as he bangs the car door shut. Eren is left alone with Levi, and somehow his heart starts to beat loudly in his chest. _Thump_ , _thump_ , _thump_ it goes.

“Oi, Eren, look up.” Levi’s fingers are gentle when they pull on the brown strands of hair.

So Eren does look up, blinking away the colorful circles playing under his eyelids without letting the smile drop from his lips. They are close, and Levi’s leaning through the space between the two front seats. They keep getting closer until...

Eren’s eyes close, and he makes a small sound when Levi kisses him –slowly and sweetly at first, but then there is tongue, and the world turns upside down. The kiss doesn’t last forever because Levi’s side hurts from the way he’s sitting, and Jean is also coming back. Jean doesn’t ask a single question when getting in the car so Eren understands that he knows what they were doing. ~~~~

Eren places fingertips against his lips and stares out the window once more. His first real kiss tasted like bitter peppermint.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my monster of a oneshot.


End file.
